Beyond the night
by stilljustme
Summary: ...a new day dawns, far from this world. The day where Mary will finally see those she loves again.
1. Chapter 1

Dawn was barely breaking when they summoned her for the last time. Elizabeth had postponed the execution numerous times, forcing the fate of her own mother Anne Boleyn on Mary. Whether it was a last act of cruelty or a subconscious way of dealing with the terrible crime she was committing, nobody would ever know. Suspicions had risen the moment Mary had been sent to Fotheringhay, and from what little she had heard they would continue long after her death – suspicions, questions, tales about how the two most charming and most beautiful queens of their time could not live in peace. How the virgin could smash a woman who once had several knights and kings vowing to protect her.  
How a son could condemn his mother.

"Finally, Mary Stuart."  
"Queen Mary, your majesty." She held Elizabeth's glance easily, her expression as placid as the English queen's was greedy. "I am pleased to see you relieved from all your fears now. Although it might not last for a long time." Only now Mary looked down to hide her smile at the other's gasp.  
"You will not live to see another hour, whether filled with relief or worry", Elizabeth hissed. "Your time is over, _cousin_. Your own people betrayed you. You are nothing – not to me, not to anyone in the world."  
Mary nodded and closed her eyes for a second as they filled with tears. The betrayal of the Scottish peers – even if she understood it now, in parts – still hurt. But not as much as the letter she had received two days ago, a message from Spain in broken French, telling her of Bash's death. Even he had left her now. "You're right." For a moment, her voice quivered, and she took a deep breath. "You were not right, however, in condemning me. You cannot sentence me to death, not on your own."  
"I did."  
"But it wasn't right!" Mary's voice was sharp now, too, her eyes blazing with a fire not even the darkest nights and coldest cells had been able to black out. She had lived through worse than Elizabeth's hatred. So much worse.  
"Maybe you're right. Maybe what I did for my country will be forgotten one day. But your crimes against me won't ever be. People will talk about you, about your greed and your fear and how they grew so big that you took God's law into your own hands and killed me, because even imprisoned I am stronger than you!"  
Her voice had become louder with every word, and when the echo had faded, silence fell over the courtyard. The English lords, the servants, the soldiers, even the birds seemed to hold their breath, waiting.  
Elizabeth didn't say a word.  
Then, suddenly, the sun broke over the horizon, rays of gleaming gold reaching for the executioner's block. Again, Mary felt tears in her eyes, but this time they came from relief.

It was over. She had finally suffered enough. She had lived without the love of her life long enough, without her best friends – Aylee, Lola, Leith, they all had passed away before her. Bash had been her last and perhaps truest companion, and he had left, too, had taken his place at his brother's side.  
 _Francis_. Mary smiled. Over the years some memories they'd made had been lost, and in prison she had almost lost the sound of his voice, his smell – gone, everything gone in cold and fear. Had she become everything he had seen in her? Had she fought bravely enough for both her countries, for her family?

"You can tell your lies in the afterlife", Elizabeth finally said, her chin shivering with fury. "I am tired of your voice, Mary Stuart, and of every breath you take. I heard even Sebastian de Poitiers couldn't handle it anymore and decided to die."  
"He did." Mary shook her head and took a step closer to her cousin, until the guards stopped her. "You cannot hurt me anymore, Elizabeth, don't you know that? Whatever I may lose in this life, I gain in heaven. And to begin with, I've lost more than you'll ever own." For the first time, she bowed before the queen and then went up to the block.  
The executioner knelt down in front of her. "Forgive me, your majesty, for what I am forced to do. And beg mercy for me before God. I would not have done this but my children need to eat."  
"They do", Mary said gently and touched the man's shoulder. "Stand, and do not be afraid. Your queen will have to justify her orders once. You are but a loyal man. And you do me a greater favor now than you can ever do to your queen." Without looking back she knelt down and closed her eyes.  
"Heavenly father, accept your daughter. Bring me peace as I have tried to bring it to my people, and have mercy on my soul." She bit her lips and continued quietly, "let me see him again. I've lived in hell long enough, and I will go back and burn there if it is your will but let me see him first! Let me see them all and tell them how sorry I am. Please. Please, God, -"

A sharp hiss, then her head exploded. Heat, blood, white blossoms raining down on her, a crown, a sword, Bash laughing, Lola and Jean sleeping next to her, a wooden ship, a blonde boy running in front of her on long legs and she chasing after him, running faster and faster, through night and day and darkness again, darkness,…

And into nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm really sorry for keeping you waiting for this – I was just too curious to know what you'd think of the concept. I can't promise to update very fast, but at least it won't last three weeks again. So far, I'm very happy to see that you like the story.**

The pictures had faded, but the pain in her head and neck was still raging, burning through every cell of her being. This was not how Mary had depicted death. It was supposed to be an eternal morning filled with bliss, joy, and praising God – or at least, for she was no longer sure she could believe in heaven, an eternal, peaceful slumber.  
But this… as the pain intensified Mary wondered if she had ended up in hell. Was this the price for her loss of faith? For her using occult and forbidden forces to save Francis? It hadn't even worked out. She had lost him, just as she had lost everyone else. Only memories remained, and while they had given her strength in England, now they were wearing her down as she stumbled forward into the darkness.  
She would see her friends again. She had to believe it. They were all dead, and she was dead, so they _had_ to be somewhere around.  
"Please…" Mary was startled by her own voice as it echoed through eternity. She sounded younger than she used to… like when she had been a child, playing hide and seek with Francis. He would always find her in the blink of an eye while she had to run through the whole castle and still didn't get a trace of him. So one day she had hushed down into the cellars.

 _As soon as her feet touched the dirty ground, cold seeped through her shoes, her dress. Hiding her hands in her sleeves, Mary turned to the darkest corridor and followed it as quietly and quickly as she could. This time, Francis would not find her so easily – no matter how hard her teeth chattered. Hugging herself against the cold, Mary kept marching, focusing on her betrothed's face if he didn't catch her soon.  
She liked Francis, she really did, and she was actually looking forward to marrying him one day – but he was always so sure of himself. Always so confident that things would turn out well, that people were goodhearted, that life could be easy… it couldn't, not for an heir. Mary knew that, and she was younger than him. She'd tried to explain it to Francis, but he wouldn't listen. Politics was what mattered most to a queen, her mother had told her, and that Mary should learn as fast as she could to protect her country. It was a duty and an honor, that was what her mother had drummed into her, and she knew it, she _felt _it… Francis didn't seem to. He was never afraid, never worried – except for Bash sometimes, when he disappeared for hours. Nobody knew where he was going.  
And now it would be the same with Mary. She crouched down at the wall, buried her feet in her skirts and waited, grinning. She too would disappear for some time, and neither her mother nor Francis would be able to reach her. She was free._

 _After about five minutes, however, freedom stopped feeling good. Her fingertips and toes turned to ice, but worse even than that was the silence. Apart from her own breathing and occasional drops of water, she heard_ nothing _. No sign of life anywhere_.  
 _Mary closed her eyes. She couldn't give in now. Suffering also was a part of life. It would make her strong. That's what her mother would say.  
Or she would freeze to death – that was what Catherine would say.  
Mary endured the silence for another five minutes that felt like an hour, then she decided to return. She wasn't cruel, after all, there was no need for Francis to panic completely.  
Just how exactly had she come here?_

Mary stopped with closed eyes as the memory took over, as she felt her heart beat faster than it had in a long time, fast and frantic as it had done back then when she had realized she was lost. With every step the cold had become stronger, and the darkness heavier. What had begun as a game quickly turned into a nightmare, and after an hour or so, the little queen had seriously feared to die below the castle. What a stupid way to die.

 _"Please…" She was so cold and tired by now that her mouth barely moved, her voice was thin. Mary shivered and tried again, louder this time and more regal (she hoped): "Please… can somebody hear me?"_  
 _Nothing. Biting back a sob, Mary kept walking. When she didn't feel choked up by fear anymore, she tried again: "Can somebody hear me?"_

"Mary! Great God, what are you doing here?"

Mary's eyes snapped open as memory mixed with reality. As years ago, her body started shaking, but this time it wasn't from the cold. "Hello?"

"Hello… and forgive my stupid question. We've been waiting for you."

With tears in her eyes, Mary turned her head towards the soft voice. "Who are you?"  
"Someone who, even though he deemed every day spent without you worthless, would rather not have seen you again so soon." A low laughter, so familiar it hurt. She curled her fingers into fists to stop them from shaking. Her heartbeat – why ever she still had one – lived in her fingertips, in her stomach. "This can't be."  
"Yes…that's what most of us said, I heard. Except Francis, of course." The affection in the other's voice as he spoke the name brought fresh tears into Mary's eyes, until she couldn't hold them back anymore. Sobbing, she broke down – and found herself caught up in steady arms, and a smell that carried relief and safety and joy and guilt.  
"Bash!"  
"Mary." She felt his breath on her forehead, then his lips. "I really shouldn't be saying this but I'm glad to see you."  
"See?" She laughed shakily, trying to dub the awkwardness she felt. "I don't see anything."  
"Then open your eyes." Bash's voice was gentle and calm as ever, if he noticed her mixed feelings he didn't show it.  
"They are open."  
"Then maybe you're not ready yet." He pulled her close for a moment, then let go of her. Mary gasped, suddenly feeling uncertain on her feet without his support. Then again, she was a queen. The queen of Scotland, and once the queen of France. It was about time she acted like it. Even when, for Bash, her rank had never been important. "Where are we? Why are we here? Where is…" She bit her lips before ending the sentence, but judging from Bash's laughter, he understood. "I don't exactly know. Our best theory is we're in a kind of an entrance hall, waiting for our call to heaven. Or hell." He almost choked on the last word. "Don't worry. You made it through the shadows, as did all of us. Elizabeth cut off your head, but she couldn't harm your soul. It was never endangered."  
"Not by her, at least." The words were out before she could stop them. In her heart, joy was fighting with guilt, both emotions so strong she felt as if she was breaking apart.  
"Mary…"  
"It wasn't your fault." She shook her head resolutely. "You have never been anything but honest with me. You told me about your feelings and then you let me go, but…"  
"You sent me away", Bash interrupted. "I would never have let you go if I'd seen a chance for us to be together. Never. You always had my heart."  
Mary winced at his words, and at the surge of regret inside her. "I sent you away because it was a mistake."  
"To believe in our love?" The calmness was gone, replaced by the powerful rage only a son of king Henry had. Mary bit back a smile. She had missed him so much. She had missed both of them so much.  
"Mary, what we had was real! I know it was."  
"I didn't mean to say it wasn't", she responded softly. "But we shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have done it. I am married to Francis." Mary took a deep breath as both joy and guilt became overridden by longing. She had learned to keep the grief at bay, and over time, the pain had dulled and become bearable – but it had never stopped hurting. She still loved him, would always and everywhere love him… and she would always search for him. In her mind. In the taste of French food. In the sky on a clear day.  
In Bash.

"What we did was wrong", she repeated in a whisper, lost in memories she was no longer sure to be true. "You said so yourself."  
"I…" She felt him shaking his head next to her, overwhelmed with grief as she was. "Our timing was wrong, maybe. But not our love. I have always loved you, Mary, and that love never changed."  
"Then your love was much purer than mine." Mary bit her lips. She hadn't admitted it to herself but Bash deserved her confession, he deserved the truth – and she deserved his hatred, if that was how he would feel afterwards.  
"I love you too, Bash, you know that. I really do. I always wanted you to be happy. But when we went to Scotland… after I'd killed the man who murdered Francis, when Lola died and everything… everything… I just…" she broke to her knees and this time there was no one to hold her. "I needed someone who would make me feel safe. I wanted my husband back. And you… you knew him so well. You knew him better than he did himself, better than I. I love you, for yourself, but in this moment I..." she stopped again. Nothing had ever been harder than saying these words: "I loved you because you were the closest thing to Francis I could find."

In the silence that followed, the darkness started to fray. As she waited for Bash to say something Mary realized she could see his shape close to her. Often she had evoked his face in her memory, had imagined the traces of time on his face. The man sitting next to her showed no sign of age, no sign of the illness that had torn him from this world weeks ago. It was yet too dark to see if he was crying but his voice was calm again. "You already told me." He waited for an answer and, realizing he wouldn't get it, continued, "when we were close to marrying, you remember? I wanted the truth, and you said it. You said that you loved me…"  
"It was true then, and it is true now."  
"…and then you said…" Bash closed his eyes. A sad smile played across his lips. "It's alright, Mary. I guess I knew it from the beginning." He paused again. "You see me now, don't you?"  
"I do." She gently reached for Bash's hand, ready to halt if he should pull it away.  
He didn't.  
"Would you say it again?"  
She took a deep breath, and then the words slipped out of her mouth, clear and much easier than it had been at the first time: "I love you. But I love Francis more."

With this, the darkness disappeared. Involuntarily, Mary looked up. Around her, everything was blue. At first, it didn't seem different from the blackness but when she focused on a spot of light she realized it was shaped like a cathedral, seen from very far away, and very high. It looked almost like Notre-Dame, but that was impossible!

"Me too." Bash's voice brought Mary back to reality. She turned to him, touched by his loyalty to his brother. A loyalty that had never wavered. "Bash…"  
"Come on." He stood up and gently pulled her with him, cutting off her next excuse. As if words could ever explain how sorry she felt. How lost she would be without him. How much she loved him.  
"Let's go find the others. I'm not the only one who missed being with you far too long."


	3. Chapter 3

**I can't quite say where this came from… next one up will finally be the reunion with Francis (I guess.)**

The world they walked through was wider than any Mary had ever seen, and there was no path through it. Staring at her feet she saw only blue, and stars, pieces of white and brownish light around her. The one shaped like Notre-Dame wasn't the only familiar one. There was a gloomy figure reminding her of the tower, and another, more to the left (as far as she could say that), that almost looked like… "Linlithgow Palace."  
"What?" Bash, a few paces ahead, turned around.  
Mary swallowed. "This is where I was born." The queen of Scotland. Sweat gathered in the palms of her hands. Here, everything had begun. Her country, her destiny… her mother, strong and unyielding, hard sometimes – but she would never have lost her crown the way Mary had. Betrayed by her own people.  
"I see." But when she turned to him, Mary noticed Bash wasn't looking into the distance but at her face. Then he reached out his hand. "It's over, Mary. I know you don't want to hear it but it's over, and whatever happens to Scotland or England or… France, for that matter, lies no longer in your hands. It can't bother you anymore."

"That's an easy thing to say if you have never ruled."  
Mary gasped and quickly dropped the hand she'd just extended to Bash. "Mo… your majesty."  
"Hello, my dear." With a smile softer than Mary remembered ever to have seen on her mother, Marie de Guise appeared in front of them and gently touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry for what happened to you. As a queen and as a mother both."  
Mary bit her lips. "I failed you. I failed Scotland, I failed everyone. I'm sorry."  
"You did your best." The older queen looked down as if in shame. "I should have asked nothing more."  
Next to her, Mary felt Bash move, obviously irritated by her mother's words. They might sound harsh to him, but she had expected nothing more. She had been born a queen, untouchable by law. She had died a prisoner in England, abandoned by her own people. A shame unheard of in her family, if not in Scotland.  
"You didn't ask anything impossible, it would seem." Her voice wavered a little.  
Marie de Guise frowned. "But it turned out to be impossible." The moment of softness was gone. "Don't misunderstand me, Mary. I am not disappointed by you, not anymore. You made mistakes, unforgivable ones for a queen, but I saw you fighting to get things right until the very end. With your death, you became the queen I wanted you to be. But I am worried about Scotland. What will happen now? How will our country survive?"  
Mary shrugged. "I don't know. Is it in our power to decide that?"

"No. You can't. And it really is about time for your mother to accept that." A voice as sharp as a knife, and as familiar as her own. The brittleness Mary was feeling inside since her mother had appeared increased. Relieved, angry and happy at the same time (where there no pure feelings anymore?) she turned around. "Catherine."  
"Hello, dear. You did well down there." Catherine's smile, too, was softer than it had been in a long time. Her face however showed no trace of that softness as she looked at Marie de Guise. "I may have made many mistakes, unforgivable ones as you call them, but I never sinned against my children like you did. Against your _only_ child." She shook her head at the other woman's unimpressed air and stepped closer, forcing her to look up, carrying on a fight that must have started long ago. Seeking for help, Mary searched for Bash, but he was gone, disappeared into thin air. Mary's heart beat faster. Had he abandoned her after all? She couldn't blame him if he had.  
"Don't worry", Catherine reassured her, still staring at Marie de Guise. "You'll see him again. Bash would never abandon anyone in need, especially not his family. Even I had to accept that. He'll wait for you at the door."  
"Door?" Mary whispered, "what door?"  
But Catherine had already turned her attention back to the other queen – her rival, obviously, though Mary didn't quite understand what they were rivaling about. Or why she had to witness it.

"You say I was more fortunate than you? Fine. I don't have to justify my _fortune_. I made sacrifices enough, I _was sacrificed_ often enough. But that will never matter to you. So accept only that: I was a better mother than you were."  
Marie de Guise straightened up, wearing the cold mask Mary had seen on her so often as a child. Far more often than any other one. "You say that to me, over and over again. Do you dare say it to my daughter, too?" When Catherine remained silent, Marie de Guise laughed. "Let's ask Mary herself, shall we? Come on, dear."  
Mary's feet shuffled toward the royal beck without her deciding to do so. "You're… you're not seriously arguing about me?" She meant to keep her voice light, but ridiculously as this situation clearly was, it seemed serious indeed. Very serious.  
Catherine kept her eyes on Marie de Guise, staring her down. After a moment, the Scottish queen looked away and at her daughter. "Well, yes we are. In the end, it seems we've been nothing more than mothers all along. We can fight about the wealth of our countries and the victories our beauty won us, but in the end…what mattered was your happiness, Mary."  
Mary frowned. "What mattered was Scotland, you just said so yourself, you made me…"  
"I made you become one with your country because I hoped it would keep your heart safe", her mother cut her off fervently. "I wanted Scotland to make you happy just as you were making her happy."  
"Then why did you send me away?" She had hoped she was done crying, but here the tears were again, close to her eyes. Mary clenched her hands to fists. The last thing she wanted was telling Catherine de Medici she had been a better mother than her true one – and surely her arguing would be a sign of triumph for Catherine – but she couldn't accept this, either: an apology. A justification, and a bad one. When actually she had never asked her mother to justify anything.

Marie de Guise looked down and shook her head. "I thought it would save your life. You were always so devoted, Mary, and I thought… I thought that would be enough for you to stay true to your destiny. I have to admit, I didn't expect you… and this boy, Francis-"  
"He was a king", Catherine hissed, but Mary noticed how pale she had become. "Don't you call him boy, you have no idea of-"  
"Anyway." Marie de Guise waved the other's words aside. "I didn't expect you to fall in love, Mary. To love and be loved back – I never experienced that. I didn't understand how your husband's actions and his death could devastate you so much. I didn't expect your love for him to run deeper than your love for your country."  
"Neither had I." Mary's voice was flat and drained of emotion. "But Scotland was I and I was Scotland and after Francis' death I didn't give up and die as I wanted to, so many times." She shook her head. "And you were loved, though I now realize you didn't know it. Or you didn't want to know it." She waited for her mother to look into her eyes. "I loved you, mother. I loved the queen you were, and the mother you sometimes tried to be. So did James."  
"I didn't mean it that…"  
"Yes, you did!" The anger she felt rising inside had built up for almost forty years. Mary took a deep breath. "I believe that you wanted to love us, but you never did. And you never loved Scotland, either, not the way James and I and all our countrymen love it, not the way Francis loved it!" His name hurt, cried out into the blue eternity. Catherine closed her eyes. "He loved it because of you", she murmured.  
Mary bit her lips. "And I started to love France because of him. And because of you", she added after a moment, forcing herself to think back to better days when she turned to her mother-in-law. "Because of Bash and Henry and the moments when you all kept the peace. Do you remember my first Christmas in France? _This_ was why I fell in love with your country. And sometimes I thought it would become like that again, but it never did once I returned. You ruined that for me, Catherine. You ruined my childhood memory, you almost ruined my marriage, you terrorized your children…"

Catherine cringed beneath her words, and Mary found herself enjoying it. Elizabeth had forbidden her to talk, she had chained her and locked her away from the world, but up here, there was nobody to hold her back. Nobody and nothing to stay the desperation and bitterness she had lived with every day. Every day since Francis had died.  
"You're really standing here arguing about who the better mother was? Look around! Your children are dead. You couldn't save any of them, and they all died well before your age. You were great queens, both of you. Let that be enough. As mothers, you've failed more than I have failed as queen."

Suddenly, the light beneath her darkened. Mary looked down and gasped. She was standing on stone now, solid and black, and Linlithgow Palace was gone, buried underneath it. "No!"  
She looked up again. "What happened? What have I-" There was nobody left to listen. The queens, after hearing their sentence, had vanished as quickly as they had come.  
"No…" Mary knelt down. There had been more things left to say. Good things. Things these women had done for her, things that would have made Mary forgive both of them if she had only been patient enough to think about them. Now, however, it was too late.

"Are you done?" Bash appeared next to her. "That was so overdue. I've been here for only a couple of weeks and those two… they make you think you're in hell already. Or again", he added with a sad smile.  
Mary didn't even try to get up. "How can you talk about them like that? I mean, how can you live with Catherine here? She killed your mother."  
"And I haven't forgotten about that, Mary." The amused tone was all but gone. "But you can't call that "live", can you? I don't have a say in who's around me. As I never had, actually." Bash smiled again, but it was obviously forced. "You just have to get through this. We're here for you. I still believe, as soon as you've made your peace with everyone, we'll get through that damned door."  
"The door again…" Mary murmured, then she jerked. "Why me? Why would I keep you all from heaven? How can I be guilty of this, too?" It was becoming too much. She had let hundreds, thousands of men suffer. She had killed men. But could it be that even after death she was found guilty of robbing her loved ones of happiness?

"Oh, Mary." The laughter carried through the space long before the figure danced over the newly created ground, soundless. Mary stood up and automatically wiped her hands, but there was no dust, no ash, no sign of shame. "Because I bear it all on my soul now."  
"No." Bash sighed. "Because in this place, values like shame and honor, or good and evil don't… quite work like they did on earth. It's like… would you like to explain it to her? I've got two queens to catch."  
Lola beamed. "Go fetch them, I don't envy you." As she watched Bash leave, Mary couldn't take her eyes off her. Lola had been the first to die because of Mary. She had not wanted it, of course not… but it had happened. No historian would ever write it down, but England had not attacked Scotland because it was greedy for land. England had attacked Scotland because Elizabeth was greedy for Lola's loyalty. As Catherine and Marie de Guise had claimed to be only mothers, for a few months Mary and Elizabeth had become only women bereft of their best friends.

"Mary?" Lola gently took her friend's hands and squeezed them. "You used to talk more."  
When Mary opened her mouth, she laughed and cried at the same time. "Lola, I'm so sorry." And then she sobbed, again, and Lola held her in her arms like she had done often before.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm sorry it took me that long – and that it's still kind of preparing Frary much more than being Frary. I'm working on the final chapter, but I've been doing so for the past four weeks and it just won't get right. So I thought I'd upload this little piece as a promise (to me as well) that I haven't abandoned this story. Sorry but I hope you like it a bit.**

Opening her eyes – seconds or hours after she had broken down in her friend's arms – Mary found herself looking at Lola's throat, the skin unscathed and beautiful. Automatically, her hand moved up to her own neck, and she registered that the same miracle had happened to herself.  
"It's strange, isn't it?" Lola smiled as she gently pushed Mary away and helped her to sit. "How we not only seem cured of every wound and disease but also become young again, as if we never left the French court. I've been here for quite a while and I still don't understand it. But I… I got used to it. It's alright." She swallowed, and for a moment the happy mask broke. "I got used to it. I…"  
Mary reached out and touched Lola's cheek before she could smile again, stopping her midsentence. "Lola…"  
"No, Mary!" The other woman shook her head. "I know what you want to say, but you're wrong. This was my decision. It was my life. I thought I was risking it for you, and in that belief I would do it again. I… I would have loved to be with my family, yes, but…" suddenly there were tears in her eyes, but she shook them away impatiently, trying bravely to smile. Lola never had allowed herself to wallow in self-pity. Mary had always admired her for that. Now, however, it only made her feel more worthless. More lost.

"Jean is happy" Lola finished. "I saw my first granddaughter born a few months ago. They're alright, my son and his little family."  
Mary bit her lips. "I should have taken care of him. I should have looked after him…"  
Lola quickly shook her head. "No. What you did was perfect. You gave them the chance to leave Scotland in peace, that was all he needed. He is happy, Mary! He lives far from court, far from harm, a normal life… that is all I could have wished for him!"

A normal life. Mary closed her eyes. In a different life, Francis and she had mused about such a thing. On some days, they had pretended to have it – a simple life, just the two of them with their children, responsible only for those they loved… it had been a wonderful dream.  
But nothing more.

And then everything had been taken from her, and her life had turned into a nightmare. Mary shuddered as the moment of Francis' death rose in her mind, as it had done a thousand times before. Over the years, this had become how she knew him best, how she remembered him the clearest – dead. A pale, still face, eyes flat and empty, looking up into an empty sky.

"Really, Mary, it's alright." Soothingly, Lola put an arm around her. "And as for Stéphane… I would never have asked that of him, but…" A shy smile played around her lips. "Well, who'd thought he'd become such a caring father? And grandfather, now. I didn't think it could be enough for him."  
"It isn't." Mary frowned. Something Lola had said was bugging her, but she couldn't name it yet. "But what choice does he have? He lost you."  
"Well, but he could have taken another wife." There it was again, that small but proud smile. Two queens and countless ladies had in vain tried what Lola had achieved, without trying, just by being herself: she had tamed Stéphane Narcisse. From all Mary had heard, it was true; he had not touched a woman since Lola had been executed.  
Suddenly, Mary felt sick. Narcisse had been more faithful than her.

"Anyway." Lola stood up. "As much I'm happy to see you, we both know I'm not the one you really need to see. And I won't come with you."  
Francis. The thought sent another bolt of pain through Mary's stomach, but she ignored it. "What do you mean, you won't come with me? Where am I going?"  
"Beyond." Lola shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know how it works, or where it is. But I know my way around by now. People are waiting, Mary. Nobody ends up alone in death, we are reunited with those we love most. Leith's long passed on, the moment Claude died they were gone together. I don't know what your mother waits for, or Catherine, to be honest. I thought they surely had bid their time here, except…" She bit her lips, and Mary nodded, thoughtful. "They were waiting for me. But I don't really think I gave them the answer they needed." She swallowed. "So you are bound to wait here for your husband?"  
"Yes." Lola's voice was soft with longing. "I've been keeping an eye on him as Francis has on you, but seeing is never enough. You don't know how it feels to…" She shuddered. "How it feels to see the people you love most suffer so terribly, and miss you while you're standing right next to them… Mary? Mary, what's wrong?"  
She gently touched her friend's shoulder but Mary didn't feel it, didn't feel anything.  
Francis had been watching her. She didn't understand how this was possible, but there was no reason to doubt Lola's words.  
Francis had seen everything she had done. Everything.

Mary started to sob as the pain of losing her husband returned, as strong as it had been on the first day. She had lost Francis, again. And this time, there was no hope of salvation, no other world where she would see him again. Death had often seemed like a friend to Mary, it would end her misery; it would make her see Francis again.  
Now she realized death was the peak of desperation, a promise of ongoing pain, once again, and this time, it was her fault. She had betrayed her husband, and he had seen her doing it... had seen her sleeping with and hurting his brother.  
How could he ever forgive her?

"Hey." Lola's eyes lit up as they moved to something behind Mary. "I guess I don't get another couple of minutes?"  
"I'm sorry, Lola. But I've waited long enough to see her again."  
Mary jerked at the voice answering. It was firm and alive and so warm that it melted something inside her. She was afire, light as a feather and heavy as stone at the same time.  
Mary barely noticed the tears running down her cheeks. Her stomach was filled with butterflies. "Francis." Her voice was almost inaudible but that didn't matter. It didn't matter that he hated her, that she had lost every chance of forgiveness, that their countries weren't safe,… years of loneliness. Didn't matter anymore.

"Alright, then." Lola smiled once again, then she hugged Mary fiercely. "Don't worry", she whispered into her ear. "You'll both be alright."  
Mary bit her lips. "Did you watch me, too?", she whispered back.  
Lola pulled back and frowned. "Not often, to be honest. I trusted on Francis to tell me how you are. Why?" She grinned mischievously. "What did you do?"

"Lola." Francis was standing close behind her now. "Please."  
Only now, the woman's smile faded. She backed away, just a bit, but to Mary it felt like a knife stuck through her. Then again, what had she expected? This was what she deserved. She closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands. It was beginning. She had seen all those she had been missing – and now she was losing them again. Forever.

"Mary."  
She wanted to keep her eyes shut as she felt Francis sit down beside her, knowing she would not survive seeing him now.  
"Mary, please. Let me look at you."  
Her need for him was stronger than for life, stronger than for sanity.  
"I'm so sorry." Shivering, Mary opened her eyes.

It was him. Alive and more beautiful than she remembered, his eyes wide and awake with joy, sorrow, and something she had just buried every hope for: love.


	5. Chapter 5

**First of all: Thank you for not having given up on this story. Life has turned out to be busier than expected, and I'm obviously struggling with finding time (and motivation) to write. That said, I hope – even if this chapter can't be worth waiting for it for so long – you enjoy it. And once again: thank you!  
Oh, and it's not the final chapter yet. **

**(I've copied the last part of the previous chapter again, since it's been ages)  
** _"Mary."  
She wanted to keep her eyes shut as she felt Francis sit down beside her, knowing she would not survive seeing him – him knowing everything she had done – now.  
"Mary, please. Let me look at you."  
Her need for him was stronger than for life, stronger than for sanity.  
"I'm so sorry." Shivering, Mary opened her eyes. _

_It was him. Alive and more beautiful than she remembered, his eyes wide and awake with joy, sorrow, and something she had just buried every hope for: love._

"My queen." Francis smiled as he carefully reached out to take her hand and kiss it. "Words cannot describe how much I missed you. And how much I admire you for everything you did." His eyes widened in concern as Mary flinched, tears in her eyes. "Are you alright?"  
"You have to hate me." She pressed the words through clenched teeth, trying her best not to cry. _Everything you did._ How could he admire her for sleeping with his brother? This was what Lola had meant when describing this place: it was not predetermined as heaven or hell, it was the road that led to one of those realms – and while seeing Bash and Lola and even the two old queens had given her some kind of comfort, had shown her a piece of heaven, maybe – Francis would condemn her to hell. He had to, after all she had done.

"Hate you?" Francis shook his head, suddenly looking pained. "Why… how could I ever hate you?" He searched for her glance as Mary pulled back her hand but she kept her eyes on the emptiness beneath her. "Because I deserve it."  
It wasn't Francis who sentenced her to eternal pain and grief, she realized. It had happened long ago, and it had been she herself. Every day of her life without him – and some days even when he'd been alive – she had caused him pain, had wounded the beautiful, unconditional love he had carried for her.  
"I'm sorry." There were no tears left to cry, so Mary just closed her eyes, unable to look at Francis, unwilling to look at anything else. "I know I hurt you. I did terrible things. I should never have left France, I should never have called for Bash and… I'm so sorry. I should have…"  
"Died with me?" Francis' voice was flat, tired. She knew that tone, knew it as well as the shape of his limbs, the color of his eyes, the beating of her own heart. He must have had this argument with himself long ago.  
"I did." Mary swallowed. "At least…the part of me that believed in beauty, and justice, and… god. That part died with you."  
"Well, I'm glad to tell you it hasn't, or you wouldn't be here right now." A gentle brush to her hair, much more real than the sudden light-headed voice. "I would never want you to suffer, Mary. Especially not because of me. Do you really think so little of me to wish you grief for the rest of your life?"  
"No, but…"  
"I want you to be happy That's everything I've ever wanted, from the moment you stepped out of that carriage looking like a frightened angel fallen from heaven itself!" Francis grabbed both of her hands. "Look at me, Mary. Please. I've missed those eyes for too long."  
"I missed yours more", she whispered, and obeyed, only to blink in shock when she saw him kneeling in front of her. "Francis, what are…"  
"When I felt I was dying, I thought leaving you was the worst part. Never seeing you again, never feeling you in my arms, never dreaming with you… but I was wrong." He was taking her in, every inch of her as he spoke, his voice shivering with emotion. "The worst part was seeing you suffer. I saw you cry, I heard you, every night… and I could do nothing to help you." Now it was Francis looking away, choked up. "It was like when you were raped", he murmured, "you were in so much pain and I couldn't get through to you. Only that now there was no Condé to save you. God, how I wished for that bastard to return… I would have done anything for you to be happy again. I hoped, prayed, that someone would release you. I tried to talk to Nostradamus in his dreams, I asked him to give you something that would make you forget… forget everything that happened. Us. Me." Francis took a shaking breath. "Anything to see your smile once again. And you really think that seeing you happy, finally, would make me angry?" His eyes found hers, and in them Mary saw the same blending of love, sorrow and rage that used to fill her whenever she thought about him. There was too much pain, on both sides, to be spoken.  
But maybe it wasn't too much to be mended.

"I would not have taken it", she said, quietly but calmly. Francis looked at her, bewildered. "What do you…"  
"The potion, the herbs, whatever Nostradamus might have given me." Mary waited for a moment to let her words sink in, and a memory came up in her mind: the seer standing in front of the grave, talking about a dream, asking her to allow herself to forget should her mind grant her the chance.  
Her answer now was the same she had given back then:  
"I would never trade any moment we had. I would not give away any single memory, not for all the happiness in the world. What we had was true, and it was right. Erasing it would have meant erasing everything good in my life, everything good I had become."  
"You're wrong." Francis shook his head, but at least there was a faint smile blooming on his lips. "Mary, you were always good. You were always brave, and clever, and protective over those trusting in you. With me, and without me." He shook his head again as Mary wanted to protest, "it doesn't matter anymore, anyway. We're here now. I don't know how you feel about this place, but I'm ready to leave. There is nothing left on earth for me."  
She forced herself to smile, burying all the words that still needed to be said. Not now. For reasons she didn't understand god had shown mercy on her, much more than she deserved. If hell would claim her, at least she'd have this: she had met Francis again, and had seen him smile, and had felt his skin on hers.  
Not enough, though.

"For me neither. And it hasn't been for too long." She moved forward, boldly at first and then shyly as Francis hesitated for a moment before he moved, too, touching his fingers to her cheekbones and his lips to hers.

"I love you so much." Funny how even in death, Francis' kisses took her breath away. And how her dead body reacted, butterflies dancing, heat radiating through her.  
"I love you, my queen. Maybe that is all we are given to do."  
Mary frowned. "Since when is that not enough for you?" Just the hint of a tease, but Francis smiled nevertheless. His eyes, however, remained serious.  
"I've often remembered what you said when we started over after Condé. I didn't want to accept it while I was alive, but… I've understood by now that you were right." He shook his head, sadly. "I can't save you. I never could. And you couldn't save me, from dying at least. You said this was out of our power, and that all we could do was loving each other. And loving you, Mary Stuart, is what I've done since I first saw you. And what I will do as long as I exist."

"That is more than enough." Mary pulled her husband close, broke every distance between them. Francis held her tightly, as if afraid she would be taken from him again. Her lips skimmed his shoulders, the line of his throat while his found her ear, both eager to lose themselves in each other again, to find themselves again – to regain everything that had been taken by death.

"So… I take it you're… reunited?"  
Mary bolted away, heat rushing to her cheeks. Francis grinned. "Bash. You could have knocked."  
"You see a door around here?" Bash grinned back at his brother, mischievously like when they'd been children. "And I did clear my throat, several times… you just didn't hear me." His smile didn't fade when he looked at Mary. "I'm sorry to interrupt. But we should go."  
"I guess you're right." Francis looked at him with deep affection. "Let's find out what comes beyond the night."


	6. Chapter 6

**Short and not quite as fluffy as it should be, I know. Unfortunately, I've lost connection to the series – I hope it will change once I'll get to watch season three (though it'll break my heart) but for now, this is it. Thank you for reading, and happy writing and reading to all of you! And happy new year!**

They started to walk, Bash leading the way towards a place only he seemed to see. Francis smiled and reached for Mary's hand and she took it, smiling back at him with a thousand butterflies tumbling in her stomach. The endless blue seemed beautiful now, and she felt more weightless, more careless than she'd ever been since her childhood. Or maybe not even then. They didn't talk much but Mary noticed both men glancing at her sideways from time to time, then sometimes looking at each other, smiling.  
Once she shot a questioning glance to her husband but he only grinned and shook his head, and when she turned her head to Bash she found him serious, the lines on his face deeper than before, but not of bitterness.  
Her throat went taut. "What is it?" Despite Francis' hand in hers, despite the truth of their love shining through her, Mary felt anxious. Something was yet to be done, or to be said.  
Francis gently let go of her hand. "It's alright. I understand."  
"I don't!" She turned from one man to the other, feeling an old impatience and anger rising inside her. It had been just like that when they were children – whenever Bash was allowed at court (and the Condés were gone), he would team up with his brother; against Mary and Claude, against the king, against the world. They had always been so close, closer than she and James could have ever been. The only thing that ever got between them was…

"Oh my god…"  
"Mary." Francis took her face in his hands, gently forcing her to look at him. "It's alright. It is not your fault." The smile that hadn't faded since he'd seen her again got brighter. "You're just amazing, and we both know that."  
"But I… I…" Mary felt tears in her eyes. "According to Lola, we are…"  
"We wait for those we love most. For our true soul mates. Yes." Bash's voice was calm, controlled. "Surprisingly enough, Kenna was not mine." A sad smile tugged at the corners of his lips.  
Mary looked down. "I'm so sorry. I know that…"  
"Mary, for the thousandth time – stop feeling responsible for everything", Francis cut in, extending his hands to both of them. Hesitantly, Mary took his and reached out for Bash. He seemed to want to take hers but then dropped his hand. "Not like that."  
"Bash…"  
"It's not that easy, Francis! We can't just make this a triangle!" Bash shook his head. "It's alright. Maybe I'll just go alone. Or not at all. I still don't regret a thing."

It hit Mary like a blow in the stomach. "You really love me."  
"As I've said, countless times." Bash smiled sadly. "You are Francis' true love, and mine. But only he is yours, so…"  
"I won't accept that", Francis said firmly. "You are my brother. I will not leave you here."  
"You can't take me with you! What are you going to do, stay here forever?"  
"If that's what it takes, yes." Mary squeezed her husband's hand.  
It didn't matter where they were, not as long as she was with Francis. And she was not ready to leave Bash, not again.

Bash stared at them in disbelief. "You're crazy, both of you."  
Francis grinned mischievously. "I guess we must be related."  
"Tell her – tell him – could you please…" Whatever else Bash had wanted to say was drowned in the sound of a door opening behind them. Pearly light shone over the three of them.

Francis beamed at Mary. "I think it's time. Are you ready?"  
She leaned towards him and kissed him. His hair lay soft on her skin, his eyes wide open. "I love you."  
"I love you too." She touched her forehead to his and sighed. Then she pulled back, grinning at both of the men she loved. "Race you to heaven!"


End file.
